3) Second Chances After Facing the Raven
by The Hummingbird Tales
Summary: After the events of Face the Raven, Heaven Sent and Hellbent, Ashildr is feeling rather guilty. Clara, who is supposed to be dead at this point, is also rather confused. Mainly due to the fact that she is not, in fact, dead after all.
Light.

That was weird.

Not in the sense that it was just 'odd', but in the sense that the person experiencing the light was supposed to be dead.

Yeah… _that_ kind of weird.

Forgetting about the light for a second, Clara focused on another strange fact: she was alive.

 _Alive!_

She choked on the air suddenly rushing into her lungs.

"Oh, you're awake!" A voice said, cheerfully.

Clara's vision slowly returned and she saw Ashildr sitting before her. She tried to speak but no sound came out.

 _How was she still alive?_

"It's alright, you'll be fine," Ashildr said, sensing Clara's uneasiness.

"A… Ashildr?"

"Yes, are you OK?"

"I'm… well, I'm… I'm alive," Clara replied, clearly still bewildered.

Ashildr couldn't say she blamed her for being nervous.

"Relax, I'll explain everything later. I bet you're exhausted, I'll get you something to drink," she offered, standing up.

Clara wasn't sure she _could_ drink. And anyway, Ashildr was being _nice:_ that was rare.

She sat up, still bewildered, and looked around: Ashildr's house, probably, judging by the size of it.

A blanket draped across her limp form, Clara shivered… partly from nerves, but mostly from the lack of central heating. Obviously, the blanket wasn't doing its job.

Ashildr returned to the room a few moments later, cup of water in hand. She placed it down on the small table beside the bed Clara was laid in.

"Why am I still alive?" Clara asked, importunately.

Ashildr sighed,

"It's a long story," she said.

"I'm listening," Clara retorted.

Ashildr gazed down at the floor and eventually sat down beside the bed, lifting her gaze to meet Clara's eyes, flickering back and fourth, trying to take it all in and failing.

"Listen," Ashildr started, "It's complicated, but I know you're clever so I trust you'll understand. You see, it's a rather personal matter… not just for me, but for you, too. Because I'm sorry: whatever we did, we could never have saved you at that point in time. There was nothing we could do, and I hope you'll forgive me but I felt so guilty that I requested you be brought here from off the streets. It took a while, but eventually I figured out how to transfer 30 years of my life to yours. That'll last you till your mid 50's, then you'll pass away naturally. We _are_ friends, after all so I've been making sure you've been well cared-for, and I will continue to do so upon one condition…" Ashildr explained, flashing a serious look at Clara at the end of her sentence, "You don't go back to The Doctor."

Clara let a short gasp escape her mouth before sighing, heavily.

It was going to be a hard arrangement to live by…

"Why?" She replied simply.

"Even if you did explain who you are, it's not like you'd ever survive with him, is it? You should know that very well, shouldn't you? I believe you deserve more than just 29 years to your life and if you stay here, you'll lead a very long and happy life: it's _safe_ here."

"Sure it's safe, but where's the fun in safe?" Clara replied with a weak smile.

"I worked hard bringing you back to life, I'm not about to loose you now," Ashildr frowned.

Clara sighed, obviously Ashildr was going to persist: she just wanted her to be safe…

"…Fine…" Clara said, eventually, gazing down at the floor.

Ashildr placed her hand on Clara's cold wrist and smiled before wandering out of the room.

Clara watched her go, straight-faced, and then gave a sigh.

She shivered and curled up again, hugging the bedsheets to her chest and a few stray tears ran down from her eyes and into her mouth.

She settled down, anyhow, and as soon as her mind was clear and her head hit the pillow, she was asleep.

Stumbling, almost, down the stairs the next morning, still tired and disoriented, Clara sighed.

Turning the corner and opening the door to the dining room, she listened.

No sound.

At all.

Strange…

She looked about and saw no-one: not even any of Ashildr's servants.

Clara shrugged this off and checked each room in turn but it seemed she was the only one in the house.

Suddenly very awake, Clara crept to the door.

"Not funny, Ashildr, don't you go playing pranks on me!" She spat, her voice shaking.

She was used to pranks being played on her, just not by Ashildr.

She pushed open the door and peered out: that same awful street she had died on.

That memory sickened her and she began to feel dizzy, so she leant on the doorframe.

She looked up when she heard footsteps and saw Ashildr coming toward her with one of her guards in tow.

Clara straightened her hair with her fingers and called out good morning.

Ashildr smiled at her and replied with,

"Up at last, I see? Sorry about being out, I was called by someone who was having some problems with his house… all good now, though."

"That's OK," Clara nodded.

"I suppose we'll both be needing something to eat," Ashildr said, entering the house.

"I'm not…" Clara started, under her breath, "…Hungry…"

Ashildr seemed to hear this and so she swivelled round to address her,

"Stay out here for a while then," She offered, "Get some fresh air in your system: you should soon get your appetite back."

Clara wasn't sure about 'fresh' but she agreed anyway, as the house unnerved her. So did the street, if she was blatantly honest, but at least she didn't have to be around Ashildr (who, she knew, she would be spending the rest if her life with).

She wandered along the street, dizzy still, trying to look inconspicuous to anyone who knew she was supposed to be dead. She leant on a wall, eventually, and watched the world go by.

Clara looked up to see a girl had walked past (the one who's mother she had saved, with The Doctor's help, of course) but, fortunately, the girl either didn't recognise her or didn't notice her.

Thinking that maybe she should head back to the house before anyone assumed she was a ghost, Clara started to turn back.

But then she heard her name being called in a young man's voice.

Spinning around, she saw _Rigsy,_ holding a flower in one hand and looking reasonably surprised to see her there.

Clara would have said something along the lines of 'Oh no', or something like that, but all she could do was stammer before her dizziness worsened and she collapsed.

Clara awoke to Rigsy looking down at her, concerned.

"Did you used to do that a lot?" He asked.

Clara leant up on her shoulders,

"What do you mean 'used to'?" She replied, "I still do."  
"But you're supposed to be _dead!_ "

"No kidding, Sherlock?"

"So what happened? Are you a spy? Mutant? Ghost? …Zombie?"

"Yeesh! Shush, Rigsy, someone'll hear you! No, I'm not a ghost or… whatever else you said, I'm definitely still myself. You'll have to speak with Ashildr if you want to know anything else because, frankly, I'm rather confused myself."

Rigsy helped her stand and handed her the flower he was holding,

"I came to… you know… pay my respects to you… was gonna' leave the flower where you… died. It's a rose: your favourite, right?"

"Uh… yes… who told you?"

"The Doctor did, a while ago, actually… have you been to see him yet? I bet he's still mourning you, you know? Does he know you're OK?"

"Stop pelting me with questions, I said shush."

"Sorry. Where does Ashildr live, then? I think I've forgotten…"

"Follow…" Clara said, blankly, and led him back to the largest house on the street and gently pushed open the door.

"Hey, Ashil- I mean, Me? Look who's come to visit…" and her voice dropped to a growl at the end.

It wasn't that she disliked Rigsy; it was just he was making things… complicated.

More complicated than they already were, anyway.

Ashildr stepped into the hall with that longs stride that she used when she wanted to convey the impression of importance.

Clara sometimes wished she could seem as 'royal'.

The only other person she knew who walked so regally was Madame Vastra.

Snapping out of this posh thought, she was just in time to hear Ashildr speak the last sentence of a conversation that she never heard the first part of. Probably something about her death. Or tea… possibly tea.

Anyway, it didn't matter, as Rigsy only gave Clara a quick hug and bid them both goodbye and walked out onto the street again.

Clara decided not to ask what the conversation was about for the sake of not seeming stupid or deaf.

But mostly stupid.

She didn't want to seem stupid.

Ashildr looked across at her and smiled.

Whenever Ashildr smiled, it always unnerved Clara. But at the same time, it gave her a sense of relief that she wasn't mad at her.

"Breakfast?" Ashildr asked.

"I suppose…" Clara sighed.

She didn't want to make this place her home.

No sun.

No stars.

No natural light.

No friends.

And most importantly: no Doctor.

A year in this place, she thought, and she wouldn't even remember what trees were.

Diary update: January 2016:

Weeks have passed. I think. I don't know how many days I've gone on this stupid street, but I think it's enough.

I haven't left the house much: only when Ashildr needed errands running, in which case I would only leave with a hat drawn halfway down my face.

A conspiracy has arisen, actually, that I am a spy from the 'outside' come to bring disharmony to their quaint little street.

Pfft, what nonsense!

It doesn't matter, though, soon I will be with The Doctor again, I will find a way.

But until then, I'll have to occupy myself with keeping this log.

Have no doubt, future self, I will find a way.

Sweeping the house one morning (or afternoon, or evening: Clara could never tell), Clara occupied herself with thoughts of home.

Because _this_ certainly wasn't home…

Not now.

Not ever.

She had a home: a _real_ home: a place she felt safe and content.

It was a terrace house, nothing special, but it she had memories there. After all, that was where she had grown up.

It was a nice little getaway from the hustle and bustle of busy London. She had sold her flat not so long back so she could move back to her old house and travel full time (she was sure that everything in her room must be exactly as she had left it on _that_ day).

The TARDIS… oh, how she missed it. But how persistent Ashildr was that she could never go back.

But how could she do such a thing? Leave her friends mourning her? She could never.

But suddenly, she had an idea…

A great one.

It was now or never, she had to do whatever it took to seize this opportunity, even if it meant using force…

The Doctor, too, surprisingly, still had memories of that house.

When, on Saturdays, Clara was too tired to go travelling through time and space, he would often park the TARDIS in her bedroom and they would spend the rest of the evening together, on the sofa, more often than not, watching TV and catching up on things or simply enjoying each-other's company.

He'd miss those times, too. That's what he thought as he strolled through the square in the town in which the house was set.

Sitting down on a bench, he pulled an old photograph from his pocket and looked at it, longingly.

It was a picture of himself with Clara and their two friends: Psi and Saibra.

He could almost remember that…

It had been almost a month since his companion had supposedly wiped his memory and gone off with Ashildr and he should have been over it by now, but, despite the memories of her still being faint, he wasn't.

There was something in Clara that he had never seen in any of his companions before.

Maybe there was something similar in Rose and River, but never anything as strong as this.

He supposed he'd just have to deal with her passing, seeing as there was nothing he could do now.

After a considerably long while spent staring at that scruffy old photograph, The Doctor decided to visit the house again. Just to see it one last time before attempting to move on.

But when he reached it, he was confused as to why the upstairs window was open when nobody should be living in the house…

Diary update: January 2016:

Plan went well… better than expected, actually…

Ashildr agreed that I could go back home and so I packed my bags and up and left. She did want me to have a happy life,

After all, and home is where the heart is.

Anyhow, I'm home again now and there's a knock at the door so I'd best go and answer it…

Clara slowly unlocked the door and smiled slightly.

Her smile soon fell, however, when she saw who was at the door.

"…Doctor?" She stammered.

They both stared at each-other for a while and eventually, The Doctor spoke… but only Clara's name.

He had come up with a logical explanation for this (that he had put the wrong date in the TARDIS) but this was soon proved wrong when he spied the calendar hanging on the back of the door.

Clara swallowed, which stung her throat,

"…Well," She started, "I suppose I have some explaining to do…"

"You certainly do," The Doctor replied, hugging her.

They were both sure that they had never held each-other so longingly in their near 5 years together.

After a while, they decided to get out of the cold, and headed inside.

So sitting on the sofa, The Doctor watched the clock steadily tick by.

"Hang on," Clara's voice came from the doorway, "Aren't you have supposed to have forgotten who I am?"

The Doctor turned to see her holding two mugs of coffee in her trembling hands.

He took one from her so that she could hold the other better.

He smiled at her,

"I did… for a while, at least. Before I found something… a book."  
"A book?"

"A book of all my past companions and, of course… you. Your name, address, phone number and when you 'died'."

"So you remember me?"

"Not quite. I know who you are but I don't have my memories back: that's not possible."

Clara laid her coffee cup on the side table and sighed. She wasn't thirsty.

The Doctor did the same and then attempted to stop Clara's fidgeting by gently stroking her hand.

He closed his eyes and gave her a soft kiss beside her mouth.

Clara blushed.

"So…" The Doctor started, "How are you still alive?"

Great(!)

Clara had been hoping not to touch on that subject.

She laughed, nervously, and scratched the back of her neck,

"It's a long story…"

The End


End file.
